


Sleepless Nights and Noisy Neighbors

by Accidental_Ducky



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bard just wants to sleep dammit, Barduil - Freeform, Eventual Barduil, F/M, M/M, Oops, Pie, Seems like I'm getting good at those, Slow burn again, modern!AU, single dad!thranduil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: The rest of the ride passed with Legolas chattering excitedly, continuing to do so as they got out and started inside Bard’s apartment. The chattering, however adorable it was, came to a halt the second they entered the bedroom. There were three people reclined in the room and three sets of eyes locked onto the pair as they stopped in the doorway, one of them a pale blue. “Uh oh.” “Bard, I would appreciate some warning before you take my son for ice cream this late,” Thranduil says, his voice hard and unforgiving. Bard flinches at the sound of it, wondering if it was too late to hide under the bed and hope they all go away. “In my defense,” he states instead,” your son popped up out of my backseat like some kind of dandelion.”





	1. An Exhausted Greeting

Bard had barely noticed that someone had moved into the apartment next to his for the first week, too busy trying to take care of his daughter and wife. In fact, it wasn’t until week two when Bard had finally got his wife into bed and his daughter into her crib that he was actually able to sit down and try to relax himself. Sigrid was only three weeks old and seemed to cry every time he sat her down, but now the house was quiet and he could work his crossword puzzle.

That’s when he first heard it, a muffled crying as he set pen to paper that made his Q turn into an ugly ink blot. His first thought was that the noise was coming to his daughter and was already halfway to the nursery when he realized the sound wasn’t right. Sigrid’s cries were high and shrill, but this was deeper and sounded more like a grown man’s. He tried to ignore it at first, going back to his chair and curling up in it with a mind to finish the crossword despite the ruined square.

The crying grew slightly louder, joined by the cry of a small child.

“It’s not my problem,” Bard mumbles under his breath. His wife and child were safe and sleeping peacefully, so it wasn’t up to him to help some neighbor he didn’t even know. And he was quite content to ignore it until he realized that his daughter wouldn’t be sleeping at all if the crying got any louder. “Damn it.”

Lips pressed together tightly, he pulls on his threadbare robe and slippers before leaving his apartment and heading the one next to his. He knocks softly despite his frustration, knowing any loud noise would just make things worse. The door of the apartment swings open, revealing a tall and thin man with a tiny infant in his arms. Now, Bard had seen a lot of new parents during the first year of raising their child, they were always sleep-deprived and just a little too ready to hand their child over to the closest relative so they could have just ten minutes of restful sleep.

This guy, on the other hand, was drop-dead gorgeous. If Bard had been single and the man in front of him looked a little less crazed, he’d probably invite him over for some flirting and tea. The neighbor was at a few inches over six feet and dressed in a suit that looked to be tailor made to fit his thin yet muscular form, though it didn’t look nearly so impressive with baby drool on the shoulder. He also had sharp, high features, blonde hair that feel straight past his shoulders, and a pair of pale blue eyes that looked like something out of a fantasy movie.

Bard didn’t wait for an invitation, taking the screaming baby out of the man’s arms and shouldering his way inside the apartment. “What—”

“Sh,” Bard says sharply. The mad just looks at him like he’s completely bonkers, which isn’t too far off the mark, but he snaps his mouth closed all the same and watches with wide-eyed fascination as Bard gets the little one to calm down after just a few seconds of bouncing.

“How’d you do that?”

“Children smell fear, so just…. Learn how to relax.” He shrugs, patting the baby’s bottom rhythmically.

“Easy for you to say, you haven’t listened to him crying for the past seven hours.”

“Is that all? My daughter’s been crying for almost three weeks.” The other man frowns, stepping closer to see the baby. The baby is a boy with the pale blonde hair of his father, ruffled from sleep and pointing in every direction. “I’m Bard, by the way, Bard Bowman. I live next door to you.”

“Thranduil Oropherion, and my son is Legolas.”

“Well, Thranduil, feel free to ask for help whenever you need it. I’m sure my little Sigrid will have me awake anyway.”


	2. Afternoon Tea

It became something of a ritual that Bard or his wife would stop by Thranduil's home once they had Sigrid sleeping, trying their best to help calm Legolas and give their new friend some time to rest. The next month saw them all growing closer, little Legolas always giving Bard a smile when he came to visit in the night.

It was nearly two months after their first meeting when it dawned on Bard that he'd never seen Thranduil or the baby during daylight hours. It wasn't too odd considering how pale their skin was, they would both burn horribly if they spent too long outside and added to that the fact that Thranduil was a single parent and absolutely exhausted.

"Why don't you two come over for tea tomorrow," Bard suggests one night, rocking with Legolas in his arms. Thranduil was sprawled out on the couch, somehow making it look graceful where Bard would have looked more like a hobo that had found a soft surface for the first time in his life.  _That's what Celeste tells me anyway_. He and his wife love each other dearly, but she has always been blunt when it came to him.

"That… Would be nice," Thranduil murmurs after a moment. He turns his head to look at Bard, thick brows furrowing. "Why are you being so kind to a man you barely know?"

"My mother always told me to be kind to others until you at least get to know them." Something seemed to soften in Thranduil's eyes, like he'd finally gained an answer that had always kept him awake at night. "Besides, you'd probably be a raving mess if I hadn't taken mercy on you."

"Mm, you're not wrong." The other man’s lips turn upwards in something like a smile and he turned his head to look up at the ceiling again. Bard liked the smile and wanted to see it again, but he wasn’t sure how to make that happen. “Tomorrow afternoon for tea?”

“Yes, whatever time you want.” Bard and Celeste were normally more awake in the afternoons, used to Sigrid taking her nap so that they could relax on the couch with Netflix on the TV. _Which reminds me, we need to pay that bill before Friday_. Bills were hard to keep up with considering Bard earned a living delivering wine to local restaurants and Celeste was forced to take a break from the community college to take care of their daughter. They would get by, though, they always did.

“What should I bring?”

“Yourself and the little one.” Thranduil’s lips purse at that, sending Bard a look that probably meant he was questioning if Bard was at all sane. It was fair, Bard often questioned if he was sane when Sigrid woke him up at two in the morning. Then again, that was mainly because he’d eat pudding cups while rocking her back to sleep and usually fell back asleep himself with a chocolate mustache.

“But—”

“No buts, Thranduil. It’s a free meal for you and, no offense, you look like you could use one.”

“I suppose I have been skipping more meals than I should lately.” Bard never questioned what had led to Thranduil raising his son by himself or living in an apartment building when he could obviously afford better—the man practically had Armani pajamas for crying out loud—and he could tell the other man was happy not to have to Bard asking those questions. Still, Celeste was the protective sort when she grew close to someone and she’d noticed just how thin Thranduil was becoming. Bard was certain that she would be dropping meals off whenever she could and spoon-feeding Thranduil if he didn’t put on some weight soon.

“And you should probably tie your hair back tomorrow,” Bard cautions. “My daughter has recently decided that long hair is something fun to chew on.” Thranduil’s pale eyes widen and he clutches at his headful of blonde hair like the infant would appear out of thin air to wreak havoc on it.

The next afternoon at precisely one O’clock, Thranduil showed up at Bard’s apartment with his hair carefully braided. Legolas giggled as Celeste took him, leaving the two men together as she showed Legolas all the toys they had collected over the course of Celeste’s pregnancy. Thranduil took in the living room with a practiced gaze, one hand behind his back and the other in the pocket of his suit jacket.

“What’s that,” Bard asks, brows raised when Thranduil looks to him. The other man didn’t seem to grasp what Bard was asking, so Bard nods at the hand hidden behind the other man’s back. “In your hand.”

“Oh right,” Thranduil murmurs, bringing out a small cardboard box,” I made pie.”


	3. The Amazing Human Pretzel

Bard had thought he’d seen some crazy stuff happen over the years, but Thranduil doing yoga was on an entirely new plane of insane. “Stop laughing,” the other man snaps, glowering at Bard,” and help me out of this!” But Bard couldn’t do anything more that lean against the doorframe, clutching his middle and laughing until he couldn’t make any noise. It was just too good and he needed a good laugh after spending the past two days with his sick baby girl.

“Y-you look like a pretzel,” he manages around a wheeze.

“Bard!”

“Celeste, bring me your phone!” His wife comes running out of their apartment, looking frantic with her dark blonde hair flying everywhere, and then her eyes landed on their friend and Bard could see her cheeks puffing out as she tried to keep the laugh inside. Bard had no such qualms, taking her phone and snapping a quick picture of Thranduil stuck in the position demonstrated on the flat screen.

“What on earth,” Celeste asks as she moves further into the room.

“One of my employees suggested I try this,” Thranduil mutters, cheeks and the tips of his ears turning pink in a blush. “He said it was relaxing, but I’ve just found it to be a pain.”

“That’s because you’re doing it wrong, you idiot.” With a few practiced movements, she had Thranduil un-pretzeled and lying down flat on his mat. The long-legged man sprawled out on the floor, hair done up in a bun at the top of his head and blue eyes fixed on his cracked ceiling. “You should attend a yoga class at the college.”

“I don’t have the time, Celeste.”

“Nonsense, I think I can get you a full week for free since the woman that teaches it owes me a favor.” Thranduil raises one brow at that and Celeste shrugs. “Alfrid was being a world-class creep and I scared him into leaving her alone.” The right brow joins the other near Thranduil’s hairline as he takes in all five feet, two inches, and one hundred pounds of Celeste Bowman.

“Don’t let her size fool you,” Bard warns with a proud smile,” she’s taken down men far larger than her before.”

“That’s how Bard and I met, he used a bad pick-up line and I put him on his back.”

“Yeah, my wife’s amazing.” He grins at her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in for a quick kiss.” Thranduil gives a sad smile as he slowly sits up, rubbing at his lower back.

“She has to be to have put up with you for so long,” he returns, standing up with some help from Bard. “Is there a reason you decided to stop by or were you just hoping to catch me in an awkward yoga position, Bard?”

“Nah, I was just wondering if you had any cinnamon.” Thranduil nods and gestures for the couple to follow him into the little kitchen area, Celeste and Thranduil going straight for the spice rack while Bard hangs back. He’d never been that big about cooking beyond the odd dish of frozen pizza and his baking skills were on par with a six year old, but Celeste could probably beat out Gordon Ramsay.

When they were still in college, she would invite him over to the apartment she had shared with her best friend and he would watch her whip up all manner of dishes for him to sample. He always found her prettiest when she was in a pair of sweats and one of his shirts, hair up in a ponytail, and flour covering her hands all the way up to her elbows even when the recipe doesn’t call for too much of it.

Sigrid would be following in her mother’s footsteps, watching with wide eyes from her walker as Celeste turns a bit of dough and a can of cherries into a pie that would make anyone jealous. Anyone, that is, except Thranduil. That man gave Celeste a run for her money, but they both refused to compete with each other. _Not that it stopped them from creating their own apple pies and making me eat three slices of each._ After that, Bard had learned that future picnics would require the strict _no making Bard eat so much pie that he passes out face-first in dandelions_ rule.

However, seeing the pair with their heads bent together and discussing the best amount of cinnamon to use in peach cobbler was almost too cute an opportunity to pass up. Bard takes another picture of it, smiling when Thranduil and Celeste look over at him just in time. Thranduil, with his sweat-stained shirt and messy hair, looked ready to murder him, but Celeste just sends him a fond smile.

The picture would be Bard’s screensaver for the next month, only taken down because Thranduil had blackmailed him with a picture of Bard attempting to do a ballet pose to amuse the children.


	4. A Bowman Christmas

Sigrid’s first Christmas is a big ordeal in the Bowman household and, naturally, that meant Thranduil and Legolas were involved as well. The adults spend the entire morning and afternoon decorating their apartments with anything they could get their hands on—the tree Thranduil insisted on buying barely fit inside—including homemade gingerbread cookies that the children helped to decorate (Legolas was covered from head to toe in bright green frosting while Sigrid had dumped an entire container of edible glitter in Bard’s lap).

Christmas songs blared from Thranduil’s top of the line speakers and Home Alone was playing on Bard’s TV, both kids still filthy, but they were calm and sitting with their backs against his couch as they watched the movie and sang along. And, while the men were arguing over the best tinsel-to-garland ratio, Celeste was busy snapping photos as she waited on the ham to finish baking in the oven.

In fact, it wasn’t until the kids grew bored and took the decorations from the two men that they stopped arguing. Sigrid, her hand held securely in Legolas’, grabbed a handful of tinsel from her father and threw it at the tree. That pretty much set the mood for tree decorating where anything other than the angel and ornaments were concerned, throw it and see if it sticks.

Of course, Bard had to quickly intervene when Sigrid grabbed one of the glass ornaments when she went to throw it, narrowly catching it before it could shatter on the floor. “No, darling,” he says quietly, kneeling on the floor beside her and wrapping her tiny fingers up in his so they could hang it on the lowest branch together,” you have to be easy with these.”

“Ball,” Sigrid shouts excitedly, bouncing a little. “Ball, ball!” It was her first word just last week and she used it for everything and everyone, though Legolas mainly shouted it along with her with just as much excitement. He was barely a year older than Sigrid and the two always had a smile ready for whenever they saw each other.

“That’s right, it is shaped like a ball.”

“Orny-ment,” Legolas attempts to correct, looking up his father with wide eyes. “Right, _Ada_?”

“That’s right,” Thranduil smiles, cuddling Legolas against his chest,” it is an ornament. And what color is it?” Legolas bends down slightly, Sigrid grabbing it off the tree again and holding it up for her friend to see. It was shiny and painted gold, the reflection in it making Sigrid’s head look larger than it actually was.

“Lellow!”

“ _Yellow_.”

“Lellow, _Ada_!”

“Lellow,” Sigrid repeats, kicking her feet excitedly as Thranduil scoops her up as well. It was nice to see the other man so relaxed and Bard could barely suppress a smile when Sigrid attempts to hang the ornament on one of Thranduil’s pointed ears. Thranduil just arches a brow at the one year old, giving her a toothy grin when she and Legolas press a kiss to his cheeks in the same instant.

“Well,” Celeste sighs with a smile,” the food is ready and the highchairs are set up at the table. Now, we have one rule in this house where food in concerned, Thranduil. Think you can follow it?”

“Of course,” Thranduil replies, frowning. “I practically invented rules, I’ll have you know. What is it?”

“Any and all leftovers apart from the cherry cheesecake go home with you and the little one.”

“I think Legolas and I can handle that.” Legolas grins and nods his head, allowing his father to carry him into the kitchen where the table had been set up. The food was all spread out on the counters, ranging from ham all the way to the little muffins Celeste made for every holiday; the table held three normal chairs and two highchairs with drinks set out for everyone based on their normal preference.

“You two get the children strapped in and I’ll fix their plates.” Thranduil and Bard had both learned by now not to argue with her when she had her mind made up, so they just did as she said and handed off the sippy cups filled with Capri-Sun. Sigrid was still getting used to something that wasn’t a bottle and Bard caught her looking at Legolas and then attempting to copy the way he held his cup. It was adorable to say the least, Thranduil quick to pull his phone out and film it while Bard moved to help Celeste with the plates.

Later that night, after everyone was stuffed, the three adults curled up on the couch and the two children sprawled out on the floor with some blankets and pillows Celeste had dragged out of the bedrooms. Bard and the others sipped on their hot chocolate, his eyes locked on the way his daughter had curled up against her best friend, brown curls fanned out across the pillow and little arm clutching at her new teddy bear that Thranduil had insisted she kept (it was cashmere and Thranduil was a stubborn little shit). Legolas had one arm beneath his head and the other loosely clutching Sigrid’s hand, his mouth wide open as he slept.

Thranduil had his long legs curled beneath him on the couch, one hand clutching his mug and the other resting along the back of the couch; Celeste had opted to sit sideways with her back against Bard and her legs stretched out across their friend’s lap, and Bard himself had an arm wrapped around his wife’s waist with his legs stretched out in front of him, Legolas’ little toes tucked beneath Bard’s feet.

It really was a beautiful scene, made perfect by the gold ornament still hanging from Thranduil’s ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's Christmas Eve, I though I'd write a little Christmas chapter for this story. Happy holidays to everyone celebrating this month and thank you all for all the Kudos/Comments! Y'all are the best!


	5. A Big Announcement

It was two weeks after Christmas that Celeste made Bard and Thranduil sit down on the couch, standing in front of them and nervously playing with her hair. Bard wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was almost certain that something wasn’t quite right in his wife’s world as she refused to meet his gaze. She was the brave one, always so strong and managing a smile no matter what, so to see her like this had him on edge.

“Celeste, what is it,” Bard asks after meeting Thranduil’s gaze and having the other man nod towards the pacing woman.

“Uh… Well, it’s complicated.”

“How complicated,” Thranduil asks.

“Very.” She continues pacing in silence for a moment, worrying at her plump bottom lip as she tried to think up a way to break the news. Bard just hoped this wasn’t about the time she’d caught he and Thranduil watching Mean Girls the other day because there was a simple explanation to that: they were bored and it was on TV. Besides, now Bard finally understood while Celeste called him a loser every time they went shopping.

“Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll go pour you a cup of tea?”

“No, I don’t want any tea right now.” And that sentence, just eight simple words, told Bard everything he needed to know about why his wife seemed so nervous. Celeste lived for her morning cup of tea, she basically ran on the stuff when there wasn’t coffee available, and she’s only ever turned down tea for one reason.

“Oh,” Bard manages, staring straight ahead of him in stunned silence.

“Yeah.”

“Are you certain?”

“I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t certain, Dear.” Thranduil clears his throat, the couple looking to him and finding him staring between the pair like they were crazy. His brows were barely raised, but there was a small crease between them that usually appeared when he was confused or frustrated.

“Am I missing time or did your husband just make some leap to big news,” he demands.

“I’m pregnant.” Thranduil’s brows shoot completely up and he gains the same shocked look that Bard had, knowing this would mean possibly having to help out with Sigrid more than usual as the pregnancy progresses. There’s a long moment of silence where all three of them stared off into space, trying to imagine another small child running wild in the apartment building.

“Oh.”

* * *

 

“ _His sword was long, his lance was keen_ ,” Celeste sings quietly, rocking Sigrid in her arms with a soft smile,”  _his shining helm afar was seen; the countless stars of heaven’s field were mirrored in his silver shield. But long ago he rode away, and where he dwelleth none can say; for into darkness fell his star in Mordor where the shadows are_.” The baby looks up at her mother, playing with some of Celeste's loose hair as she fought sleep.

"Not sleepy," Sigrid announces just as quietly as her mother, brown eyes fixed on the woman's face. 

"That's good because I have some big news just for you, my little star." Sigrid nods, reaching up one hand to rest on Celeste's cheek, feeling the warmth there as she had when she was first born. It had been a comfort mechanism, resting Sigrid's hand there when she was throwing one of her hellacious fits and wouldn't quiet down. "How would you like a new brother or sister?"

"Legolas." 

"Yes, you'll still have him, but how would you like to have a brother or sister that lived with us?" Her little brows knit together and she wiggles in Celeste's arms as she thinks it over. It hadn't taken Bard or Celeste long to figure out their daughter was a wiggle-worm, always moving even in her sleep.  _I'll never forget her slapping Bard in the nose when we first brought her home and they fell asleep on the couch_. It seemed like such a short time ago that they were taking turns on settling her down, but now she mainly slept all through the night and only fussed when she had a bad dream or she wanted her mommy to snuggle with her. 

"Sis'er." 

"A sister?" Sigrid nods, looking as serious as any one and a half year old is capable of. She would be two in just a few months and she talked more and more every day.  _My baby is growing up far faster than I like_. "Would that make you happy?" Sigrid nods again, giving her mother a sleepy smile. Celeste just holds her closer, patting her bottom to try and hurry sleep along. "Well, Mommy might have a baby sister in her belly right now." 

"Sing me, Mommy." Celeste has to stifle a laugh, watching as her daughter's eyes slide closed and her pink cheek rests against Celeste's chest. It was the same every night and it didn't seem that Sigrid would be letting a possible little sister interrupt her nightly schedule. Celeste relaxes back in the rocking chair, keeping the pace slow so that Sigrid's tummy doesn't begin to ache, and she begins the song all over again. 

" _Gil-galad was an Elven-king. Of him the harpers sadly sing: the last whose realm was fair and free between the Mountains and the Sea_...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I used is the one that Sam sings in FotR called The Fall of Gil-galad.


	6. The Scars we Bear

After receiving a flip-flop to the head for the seventh time in less than an hour, Bard decided it was time for him and Thranduil to escape the apartment building before the brain damage set in. “She wasn’t like that the first time around,” Bard complains, rubbing his aching head and letting Thranduil lead him to the beat-up truck parked out front. “Actually, she loved me rubbing her feet when she was pregnant with Sigrid.”

“Her hormones are all over the place right now,” the taller man says,” and not all pregnancies are exactly the same.”

“I suppose you may have a point.” That didn’t stop Bard from wondering why his wife insisted that she didn’t need to sit down and relax after being on her feet all day.

“Well, I _do_ have more experience in the matter than you do.” That got Bard to wondering about his friend, the mysterious zillionaire that refused to talk about his past except for Legolas. Maybe now that Thranduil had broached that subject, Bard could find out a little more beyond ‘ _yeah, I’m rich, have some pie_ ’. Because, really, you could only eat so many pies before you wanted answers more than cherry filling.

“Speaking of which, is Legolas an only child?” Thranduil flinches as though he’d been struck, his hand resting on the door handle. “I’m sorry if it’s a sore subject, it’s just that you never speak about yourself.”

“I understand that you’re curious.” And that was all he said in the matter, lips pressed into a tight line as they both climbed into the truck. The entire way into town was silent, Thranduil looking out the window at the scenery while Bard focused on keeping his other foot out of his mouth. Honestly, it’s bad enough that his wife is upset at him, but his best friend, too?

 _Maybe I should just shut up for the rest of the day_.

It seemed to be the safest option for him at this rate and Lord knows that he didn’t need the children angry at him as well. Sigrid was a sweet girl, but she was protective of her mother and Legolas would be mad at whoever made Sigrid angry. _A double whammy of angry toddlers is the last thing I need today_.

So he kept his mouth shut as he and Thranduil went inside the tiny office that housed the owner of the Esgaroth Apartment Complex. The owner was a tall and fat man, his ginger hair stringy and a bottle of booze always close at hand no matter what he was doing; his clothing was top of the line, if a bit threadbare in places.

“Masters,” Thranduil greets, pulling his checkbook out of his jacket pocket. Stephen Masters just grunts, wriggling his fat fingers for the rent he was owed. Bard digs out his wallet, handing over three crisp hundred dollar bills reluctantly. Rent wasn’t too high considering how nice the apartments are, but it’s going to be hard now that he had a second child on the way.

“Bowman, what’s this I hear of another occupant on its way,” Masters asks gruffly, counting out the bills and then setting them in the tin box he uses for cash.

“Ah, well, my wife is pregnant again if that’s what you mean,” he answers, shifting from one foot to the other as Masters writes out the receipt.

“How long until she gives birth?”

“Well, the due date is September the seventh.” He makes a sound of approval, handing over Bard’s receipt and stuffing his own copy in a desk drawer. “Thranduil, are you ready?” The other man gives a curt nod, handing over the check and leading the way out without even waiting for a receipt.

He was still fuming when Bard made it out to the truck a moment later, drumming his fingers on his knee. It was strange to see considering Thranduil normally had tight control over his nerves unless his son was concerned. Bard just starts the truck and pulls back out onto the main road, hands tight around the steering wheel to hide the faint tremble.

He's never seen Thranduil like this before and he wasn’t sure that he liked this side of the man. The Thranduil he knew was controlled and confident, cool as a cucumber in his Armani suits and shiny shoes. This man, the one beside him now, looked like he was fighting a breakdown of some sort.

“It was six months ago,” Thranduil murmurs as they pulled into the parking lot of their building. He didn’t seem to notice where they were, just stared down at his hands like they were foreign to him. The left one was gloved, as it always was, and he picked at a loose string on the cuff of it. “My wife and son were in our cabin in the woods, they both loved to fish and she was teaching him the basics of working a bow….”

“Thranduil, you don’t have to—” He shakes his head, gloved hand closing into a fist to hide its shaking.

“It was in the middle of summer, but the nights were cold since the cabin was so close to the lake.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out slowly. “Legolas and I were just driving up when I saw the flames, w-we were supposed to be there the night before, but Legolas had lost his stuffed lion and it wasn’t until late that we found it, so…. We weren’t there w-when the fire started.”

He takes a moment, the muscles in his jaw rippling as he gritted his teeth. Bard stayed silent and let him figure out how to say everything, trying his best not to speak. He wanted to wrap the other man up in a hug and tell him that it would be okay, but Thranduil wasn’t fond of that kind of affection unless it was from the kids.

“I left Legolas in the truck and called the firemen as I ran inside. The fla-flames were everywhere, they were consuming the entire cabin and I couldn’t find them.” Thranduil swallows hard and he quickly wipes his tears away before they could leave his cheeks. “I made it halfway to the bedroom when I heard Legolas crying outside, just screaming as loudly as he could, and I— I ran out and I found him half out the car window. The paramedics and firemen arrived a little after that, I was forced into an ambulance because I’d burned myself at some point.”

Bard lowers his head, unable to imagine how Thranduil must have— _still_ —felt at that helpless situation. He didn’t want to imagine because it hurt him just trying.

“Astrid and Halden must have built a fire at some point before they went to sleep, a piece of log somehow rolled out and caught the rug on fire. They died in their sleep from smoke inhalation and never even knew that they needed to leave. He was only six years old.” Without a word, Bard scoots over to the middle seat and wraps an arm around Thranduil’s shoulders, pulling him close in a half-hug. “Legolas had nightmares for months and I didn’t know how to settle him down, that’s why you heard him all those nights.”

“It’s alright,” Bard says quietly.

He closes his eyes as Thranduil goes boneless against his chest. He was sobbing now, clutching at the back of Bard’s coat as tightly as he could. Bard tightens his hold on his friend, rubbing his back soothingly and keeping him close.

“I’ve got you, Thranduil, and I always will.”


	7. Stowaways

Pregnancy cravings were weird and disruptive things that Bard certainly didn't miss, but if getting a chocolate chip and cherry shake from Sonic would make Celeste happy, then he would do it. Even at three in the morning.

_Why is it always three in the morning?_

He was downright exhausted, but he pulled on his boots and coat and trudged out into the frigid air without a complaint. After all, he wasn't the one that had a tiny human inside of him demanding food and he certainly wasn't the one that would have to push said human out of a sensitive piece of his anatomy in eight months. So, because of all the pain his wife was sure to go through, he went out and got the nastiness she calls food.

Sigrid wasn't too happy about the cravings either, but the two year old never said a word about it because it meant more time rubbing at her mommy's growing belly. Here lately, once it was explained that there really was a baby in there and Celeste hadn't actually swallowed a watermelon seed, Sigrid had been cuddling up at her mother's side and whispering to her sibling.

It was a cute scene and currently Bard's cellphone wallpaper, made even cuter by the fact that Sigrid had started calling the unborn baby "Bane", though how she came up with that name was beyond him. Even more baffling was the fact that his wife was studiously looking up middle names that would go along with it if the child turned out to be a boy. Personally, Bard was pulling for another little girl that he could wag around with him while grocery shopping.

So here he was, dressed in only his PJs and a pair of worn tennis shoes, only half-awake as he climbs into his truck. There was a moment, just like there was every time this situation arose, where he was tempted to flop over and sleep for six hours, but he forced himself to start the truck and back out of the apartment's parking lot. It wasn’t too long a drive to the Sonic in town, but his sleep-deprived mind made it hard to focus on the road.

After what feels like a lifetime of struggling to stay awake, Bard begins the long drive back to the apartment with a vanilla ice cream cone, a peanut butter and strawberry shake, and the biggest cup of Coke that Sonic had to offer. He needed the caffeine if he was expected to stay awake, sipping on it every few seconds.

“Did you get me anything?” Bard shouts at the unexpected voice, briefly losing control of the truck before swerving back into the proper lane. His gaze flicks up the rearview mirror, spotting the pale blonde hair and fair features of Legolas. The boy must have been hiding out in the backseat, his hair mussed and jacket hanging half off his shoulder.

“Where did you come from,” Bard demands. The three year old gives him a bright smile, climbing over the backseat so that he was sitting next to Bard.

“Was waitin’ on you,” Legolas answers, kicking his little feet back and forth. He was dressed in his footsie pajamas, a dark orange with little green dinosaurs printed all over it. Bard frowns instinctively holding an arm over the boy’s chest to keep him from sliding around. “You were late t’night, Bard.”

“And _you_ will be grounded for life when I drop you off with your ada.” Legolas’ blue eyes go wide and his lower lip begins to quiver.

“No, I just wanted to ride with you! I swear I won’t do it again!” He wraps his pinky around Bards, shaking it for emphasis. “Pinky promise, I swear!”

“Alright, I’ll just sneak you inside.”

“Can I eat wif you first?” He’s adopted a sly smile now, looking far too much like his father for comfort. There was no way Thranduil could deny his son, they were practically clones of each other. With a sigh, Bard gives in to the look and nods his head.

The rest of the ride passed with Legolas chattering excitedly, continuing to do so as they got out and started inside Bard’s apartment. The chattering, however adorable it was, came to a halt the second they entered the bedroom. There were three people reclined in the room and three sets of eyes locked onto the pair as they stopped in the doorway, one of them a pale blue.

“Uh oh.”

“Bard, I would appreciate some warning before you take my son for ice cream this late,” Thranduil says, his voice hard and unforgiving. Bard flinches at the sound of it, wondering if it was too late to hide under the bed and hope they all go away.

“In my defense,” he states instead,” your son popped up out of my backseat like some kind of dandelion.”


	8. Home for the Weekend

It was an abnormally warm weekend in January when Thranduil decided he needed to revisit his home. He couldn’t stay there for too long yet, the memories were still too close for him, but he could manage two days to make sure things were being taken care of in his absence. He’s found he could deal with his grief easier as long as Bard was close, the other man a source of strength with his soft-spoken words and shy smiles.

All the same, he found himself hesitating to get out of his car as he stared up at the manor house his grandfather had built deep in the woods. It used to scare him when he was younger, the enormous pillars with the vines wrapping around them, the arched windows with the wooden frames that seemed a little too sharp near the tops.

“Go in now,” Legolas asks, unbuckling the straps of his car seat. His blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail with two small braids on either side of his head, blue eyes shining with the excitement of being home.

“Uh, y-yes,” Thranduil forces out. Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Thranduil gets out of the car and opens the backdoor, picking his son up and settling him on his hip. “Come on, my little leaf.” Legolas giggles at the nickname, playing with some of his father’s hair as Thranduil shuts the backdoor and locks the car. The Bowman family pulled up behind him a moment later, Bard helping his wife out before running to the other side of the car to get little Sigrid.

“Sigrid!”

“Legolas,” Sigrid returned the excited shout, waving one chubby hand. “Daddy, look! Is a _big_ house!”

“That it is,” Bard smiles, he and Celeste coming to stand next to Thranduil in the driveway.

“Go in now?” Thranduil muffles a snort as the two year old repeated Legolas’ words from earlier. Bard looks to Thranduil before nodding, setting the little girl on her feet while Thranduil did the same with his son. Legolas held out a hand, waiting until Sigrid had a good hold on it before starting off for the massive front porch. The adults follow behind them at a more languid pace, Celeste looping her arm through Bard’s with a happy smile.

“This place is amazing,” she says, looking up at the manor in awe. “It looks like a castle.”

“That’s what my grandfather had in mind when he built it,” Thranduil informs her. His grandfather had been a little eccentric, but he was kind and loved to spoil his only grandchild. “If you think the outside is impressive, wait until you see the inside.” Bard gives one of his little smiles, the ones that had Thranduil mimicking him almost unconsciously.

“I’m surprised your grandmother didn’t decide to name it Beaux Reves.” Thranduil’s brows knit together at her words, remembering his wife saying something similar when he first brought her over to meet his family. Upon noticing his look, Celeste’s smile widens and she explains. “It’s this house from a Nora Roberts book that looks a lot like yours.”

“Astrid loved that author.” He gives a small, choked laugh as he remembered his wife sitting up for hours, reading by lamplight in the den and wrapped up in a throw blanket. Sometimes he’d find her like that the next morning, the pale sunlight coming in through the windows and bathing her in the warmth.

“She had good taste then.” Celeste winks and he can feel his cheeks heat up in a blush. He still wasn’t used to the playful flirting Celeste liked to dole out from time to time. Most of the women he grew up alongside were frigid, sneering at anyone who didn’t make as much money as them. Astrid had been the exception, a hard worker that made donations to several causes and worked at the homeless shelter in town. “Come on, Thran, I want to see what’s inside.”

“Are you always so impatient?”

“More so now that she’s pregnant,” Bard nods. “It’s smart to just do as she asks the first time.” And Thranduil didn’t doubt it, fishing the keys out of his pocket and inserting the correct one into the lock. He pushes the heavy wood door open, allowing the two whirlwinds to run past and straight for the curving staircase that leads up to the bedrooms. Always polite, he steps to the side and allows his friends to walk inside first.

“What do you think?” The front hall was spacious, sunlight streaming in through the arched window high above their heads, picking out the gold threads woven amongst the red of the area rug, the walls decorated with deer mounts and framed portraits of nature scenes, and a side table beneath a mirror with two small pictures of Thranduil’s grandparents and the second of Thranduil’s sons.

“That’s a lot of antlers.” Thranduil nods in agreement with him, each mount having a small brass plaque beneath it with the date it was brought down and by who’s hand. Thranduil himself wasn’t much of a hunter, but he still had a deer up on the wall to show for his efforts.

“Yeah, my grandfather used them in all of his decorating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Celeste mentions is called Carolina Moon by Nora Roberts, it’s a really good romance/mystery novel (and Lifetime movie)!


	9. Marco Polo

Bard hadn’t been in a lot of big places in his life, so actually staying inside a house as big as the Oropherion estate had him ogling at every antique chair and slant of light through stained glass murals on the upper floors. It was like he’d stepped inside a blackhole and was transported back in time to the middle ages when his ancestors fought in great battles against beasts of all kind.

Still, all wonderment aside, it was hard as hell to keep an eye on the little ones. Sigrid and Legolas have been playing hide and seek all afternoon, though no one had realized it until lunch time when the two chairs between Celeste and Thranduil remained empty. Bard had felt panic seize him in its iron grasp, throat threatening to close as he rose from his seat, but then there was a hand on his arm and Thranduil’s calm gaze soothed him.

“They’re probably in the backyard,” he’d said, his voice like a balm to the fear. “Legolas and his brother used to play out there all the time.” Celeste was slower to rise, always less paranoid than Bard despite how slippery kids could be. They’d lost little Sigrid in the grocery store just last week and Bard had been running around like a chicken with his head cut off while his wife had just strolled on over to the candy aisle across the store and found their daughter with a handful of chocolate kisses.

“I’ll go and check the playroom,” Celeste says, rubbing at her lower back with a wince. “Thran, you go and check the backyard, and Bard…” She cups his face in her hands, giving him the same soft smile that made him fall in love with her all over again. “Darling, you just sit here and have some wine to take care of your nerves. You worry too much sometimes.”

“Yes, well, someone has to be paranoid in this relationship,” he grumbles halfheartedly. He sat back down, watched his wife and friend leave the dining room, counted to sixty with a slow exhale in between each number, and then he was up and moving. They could search all they wanted, but he’d be damned if he actually stayed in one spot when the kids were missing.

He tip-toed past the playroom and up the massive front staircase, going to the right once he’d reached the second-floor landing. The thick carpet muted his footsteps, a pale cream color with roses that had faded to the color of rust over the years, keeping the floor beneath it from getting scuffed by little feet. He keeps his tread light, head cocked as he attempted to pick out any noises that weren’t the staff in the kitchens (that concept still astonished Bard) or his wife calling out for the children.

He was just about to turn and try the left side of the landing when he heard it, faint yet definitely nearby. It was a giggle, one that he’s heard almost every day for three years come next April. Now, if he could just pinpoint where it was coming from so he could slow his racing heart.

“Kids,” he calls out, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Children could smell fear and he swore that Sigrid and Legolas fed off of it in situations like this. “Where are the pair of you hiding at?” All he got in return was another giggle, this one belonging to Legolas. He frowns, stopping in the middle of the long hallway and looking around him at the multitude of closed doors.

Any parent with some sense would probably just start searching each room one by one, but whatever sense Bard had jumped right out the window after Sigrid was born. If you asked Celeste, she’d tell you he never had any sense to begin with. Still, sense or no, he was creative and sly when he wanted to be. With his hands on his hips, he takes a few steps further down the darkened hall and stops again.

“Marco,” he says, just loud enough for any lurking monsters to hear him. The result is instantaneous, the game familiar to the children after a failed attempt to corral them at the winter fair last week.

“Polo,” came the twin cries. He takes a couple more steps again, inching more towards the left side of the hall.

“Marco!”

“Polo!” He pushes open the closest door, low afternoon sunlight barely making it past a crack between heavy curtains. Bard flicks on the overhead light and spots Legolas soon after, scooping the little boy up from where he’d been kneeling beside an armoire. “You got me,” he giggles, grinning up at Bard.

“Don’t I always?” Smiling, Bard sticks his head out the door and calls again down the impossibly long hall. “Marco!”

“Polo,” Sigrid yells back, followed by another laugh. He flicks the light off and closes the door behind him before starting back down the hall a few more feet. He could hear muffled thumps across the hall and throws that door open next. His daughter was seated in the middle of the floor, face smudged with dust. “Da!”

“That’s right, my little star.” He picks her up, allowing her to scramble up him so that she was seated on his shoulders. “Do your old da a favor,” he says as they move back towards the stairs,” no more Marco Polo in a house the size of Masters’ ego.”

“You’re silly,” Legolas says with a smile, one little hand raising so that he could grasp Sigrid’s loosely. That’s one thing he didn’t have to worry too much about, the two were practically joined at the hip and were often found hiding together while Bard had a heart attack nearby.

“You two are going to be the death of me one day.”


End file.
